‘Don’t they?’ I doubt this is true, but the sense of the world getting away from me comes over me strongly. I want to ask her what proof she has of this.

‘If you do use Cato Hamilton, he’s young but he’s very fair. Presentable, too. I tested him out with Stan’s Tantalus in the mahogany case that holds the three crystal decanters. Stan had it valued just before he died. He always fancied taking it to the Antiques Roadshow but he didn’t want to be made a fool of. Funny, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘The way Stan was still carrying on as normal, little knowing …’ She trailed off.

It wasn’t funny at all, to my mind. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He was taken unawares. If Stan had known he was going to die on the golf course, he wouldn’t have gone to play golf. ‘Go on about the Tantalus,’ I said.

‘He offered me a good price. I didn’t give it him, of course, but he took Stan’s safari suits and all those old books he had, and my nose has cleared up ever since; I think it was the dust, you know.’ She laughs, sounding bright and happy.

She hears her own happiness and apologises, remembering I’m now Kim, the widower.

‘If there’s anything at all you’d like of Enid’s before I call him,’ I remind her. ‘Any of her clothes or anything.’ I look around the room. ‘Ornaments.’

‘You mustn’t think like that. Your life isn’t over, Kim. It’s still your house and you still need ornaments.’

No one needs ornaments. Enid had lost her enjoyment of them, too. They were a burden, more work, but she couldn’t give them away because the cranberry glass was her mother’s, the Royal Doulton was an investment and the Portmeirion bowl looked pretty with oranges in. ‘I like pretty things, Kim,’ she used to explain, as if it were some quality peculiar to her.

And it wasn’t just the ornaments. We have more glasses than two people could ever need. I don’t know why we have so many. We’re not party folk.

And we have two dinner services, even though a one-course meal only needs one plate each. And a tea service, even though we only use mugs. Saucepans? Enough to feed an army. I’ll get rid of the lot, let someone have them who’ll use them.

‘Kim? Are you still there?’ Betty asks anxiously.

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, it’s no business of mine. You must do what’s right for you, when you’re ready.’

I’ve only got myself to think of now. It’s a bleak thought. ‘Thank you, Betty.’

LOT 7

A calf-length green and gold pleated velvet skirt, Jaeger, circa 1990, size 10, along with a white silk pussycat bow blouse with gilt buttons, blouson sleeves, size 10.